Things That Didn't Happen That Really Needed To
by Kendahl
Summary: Essentially, this is my list of drabbles where I rewrite events in the Harry Potter series that should have happened, but never did. Or at least, things someone should have TRIED to have happen.


Sniper-Who-Never-Was

I waited patiently, eyes searching the crowd for a face that matched the description I was given of the target. Idly I wondered what the boy could have done to possibly upset anyone so much, but it really wasn't my business. My business was seeing to his removal so that I could get my hands on that M-85.

My finger rested lightly to the side of the trigger. I never bothered to keep my finger on the trigger. Relaxed and easy, that was the ticket. I couldn't risk blowing this job because I'd let my finger get stiff and accidentally jerked my shot off center. Something told me that if I botched the job, not only would I not get paid, but that _TRD_ would be really pissed.

Hmph. Don't look at me like that. It's not like I'm on a first name basis with my clients, and as far as acronyms go, this one is pretty apt. Needless to say, I really don't want to piss off Tall, Rich and Dangerous. The man came to me in a whirling black trench coat that barely hid his dark Armani suit and screamed, 'I can buy your ass a million times over, biatch' . Just thinking about those frosty blue eyes makes me want to shiver. What can I say? The man was absolutely lickable, and I've always been a sucker for blondes.

Long story short, he offered me a job. And a very generously paying job it was. More than enough to pay for my next rifle and keep up my accustomed lifestyle for the next half year at least. All I have to do is knock off some snot nosed brat. Speaking of which…

Messy black hair, ugly glasses, overly baggy clothes, and-bingo- lightening shaped scar on his forehead. He's talking with a couple of fat guys and a scrawny woman who could seriously use a face lift. These must be the aunt, uncle, and little cousin I was told would be delivering him to the station. He's getting his stuff from the car, some trunks and (I raise a brow at this) a snowy white owl. My, what a peculiar young man.

Oh well, that's neither here nor there. I lean down, pressing to sight into the scope I have mounted on my Stoner, and lock on my target. I only have a few minutes to pick him off before he gets on his train and is out of my reach. With that in mind, I quickly locate him through the scope and train the cross hair on him. He's pulling his luggage behind him toward the station, perfect position to get a hit in. I finally shift my finger over to the trigger and apply the lightest amount of pressure- once, twice. There is an echoing crack next to my ear for each shot I got off.

The boy drops to the ground.

A shot to the head, and one to the chest. There's no way that they'd be able to save him. His idiotic relatives are screaming in terror and clinging to each other in the car, obviously more concerned about being the next target than the fact this kid is bleeding to death if not already dead from my shots. I hesitate for a second. I know the man didn't say anything about the relatives but… I have a twenty shot magazine, and no one would truly miss them if one of my shots happened to miss, right?

Shifting my aim abruptly, I lock on the gas tank of their little car, seconds before there is a gigantic explosion. Not waiting around to see if anyone has gathered themselves enough to call for the police, I quickly break my Stoner down into the unobtrusive case I always carry with me. I have to be careful not bend the folder I have shoved into the side pocket.

I check my watch.

I hadn't calculated on waiting quite so long for them to arrive, and then the decision to waste the relatives as well- tsk, too much time spent. After all, I _do_ have to get back to the office to give my presentation to the company stockholders in a little under an hour. Luckily my office isn't far from here. I was still going to have to miss lunch , but we all have to make sacrifices sometimes.

Walking down a back alley, I begin to whistle a little tune I think I heard on a radio earlier.

* * *

Oh my god… I just killed Harry Potter… I'm going to burn in Hell for this one. 

(Laughs) Seriously though, the Death Eaters can't use magic to attack him at his relatives' house, but why can't they use a Muggle to attack him on the way to Hogwarts? Seriously, I know that there's the protection charm around The Dursley's house, so the Death Eaters can't get him there, and they can't touch him at Hogwarts because of the protection spells. Hell, there's probably a spell that prevents them from taking Harry out on the trip to the Hogwarts Express. But have they ever _tried _to? _Nooo! _They're so bloody busy being impressed with their own cleverness that they never even contemplate the obvious.

And so, this little tale of the Sniper-Who-Never-Was.


End file.
